Ermenonville’s narrow streets were almost deserted as he walked leisurely toward the hospital, thinking of the cobbles, the shop signs, weathered doors, the plants in windows and window boxes. E. would always be a core for him, a nucleus rooted in Jean Jacques, microcosm, reflection of a concept: and cobbles, tiled roof, the church, the Nonette, converging, spreading. At a certain intersection he imagined meeting former friends, schoolmates. He had rejected any renewal of relationships: what have they for me or I for them? He hoped nobody would visit him at the Rondes’. He had phoned Jean so there would be no hitch, and she was waiting for him in the hospital garden, her coat over her arm, bareheaded. The garden, a neglected X of paths, smelled of damp and earth and carbolic acid. A bird whisked into a chestnut. Poplars made a line behind the rambling building that was hunch-backed with age at one end. Honeysuckle-vined where Jean waited. As Orville entered the garden, a tall man appeared on one of the paths: he shook hands with Jeannette, a wrinkled, white haired, cane-limping man. "Orville," she called. "I want you to meet Dr. Cartier." Cartier turned, turning on his cane, to stare at Orville. "My friend, Orville Dennison." "Ah." "I’m on leave, doctor ... it’s good meeting you." "On leave here?" "My father was Robert Saint Denis..." "Of course, of course ... now I place you. We’re old friends, you and I ... I’ve changed; so have you--welcome back!" He bowed a little, professionally. "Are you in charge ... the director?" "Yes ... some say that I am ... is that right, Jeannette?" Laughing, she said, "Of course." Dr. Cartier used his cane to pin down a leaf. "We have too many cases ... compulsory cases ... just flooded." "Jean has mentioned the problem..." "More than that," exclaimed the doctor, beginning to walk away, "more than that ... I could use ten nurses like Jean ... we lack equipment. So, so you came back to France to help! My best to Mme. Ronde, and remind her of our dinner engagement tomorrow night. She works with my wife ... more problems. It’s a time of problems, as you know." "Be careful." He stopped walking to emphasize his warning. "There are many who want to talk, who make trouble." He smiled a smile at himself, a sad smile, and turned away. Orville kissed Jean, encircling her in his arms. Remember her perfume, something said. Remember! "Darling," she said. "Do you like Dr. Cartier?" "Yes ... I assume he is very capable?" "Yes ... he’s our Albert Schweitzer." At one side of the garden they found a rusty wrought iron bench beside a hedge, half-dried daisies around them, the flowers shredded by the rains, a puddle holding a single maple leaf, skiff-like, near their feet. "How was your day?" "Many wounded youngsters. We have to put them in the hallways ... all kinds of cases ... Have the Rondes returned?"